LITMIR.BIZ

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of intel on the rebel camps, on where they’re getting their weapons and how their operation is run.”

      “How do you know it was the rebels who attacked tonight?”

      Nick rose slowly from his chair and towered over her. “You tell me, Hawthorne. How did they know about Sidney?”

      “A leak,” she said.

      “Could be something else,” Phillips said. “They could have had Sidney under surveillance at the saloon.”

      Eager to get away from Nick’s scrutiny, Hawthorne turned on him. “Why would they do that?”

      “We haven’t kept it a secret that Nick is here in town. He’s part of the schedule for the Tiquanna meeting. The rebels might have figured that he’d contact his fiancée. And when she left work in the company of two official-looking guys, they’d draw the obvious conclusion.”

      Sidney nodded. Though she hated to think of being watched by rebel thugs, Phillips’s explanation made logical sense. She wished that he was in charge of this operation instead of Hawthorne.

      The thin female agent returned to her seat at the head of the table. “I knew it was a mistake to pick her up tonight.”

      “She would have found out that I was at the meetings with Hurtado,” Nick said, “and there would have been hell to pay.”

      Phillips drawled, “Y’all wouldn’t want to make Miss Sidney angry.”

      “Oh? Why not?” Hawthorne said.

      Nick chuckled. Sidney couldn’t see his face, but she knew he was grinning as he said, “My fiancée was planning a coup on the government of Tiquanna. You’d be wise not to underestimate my woman.”

      “Let’s talk about another woman, shall we? I’d like to hear more about your relationship with Elena Hurtado.”

      Sidney vividly remembered Elena. An exotic, raven-haired beauty, she played the role of South American bombshell to perfection. Elena was a woman who deservedly inspired envy. If Nick had a relationship with her, Sidney wanted to know.

      Not wanting to miss a word, she leaned forward. Her forehead bumped against the spokes holding up the railing. Just a quiet, little thump. But it was enough to draw the attention of the military guy and Phillips.

      She was discovered. There was nothing she could do but stand up. Trying to ignore the pain in her arm, she pasted a smile on her face and shuffled along the balcony toward the staircase in her oversize moccasins.

       Chapter Five

      Nick rushed to the staircase, where Sidney carefully descended, clinging to the banister and taking one step at a time. Less than half an hour ago, he’d been sitting on the edge of her bed watching her sleep soundly. Unable to keep his hands off her, he’d stroked her fevered forehead, brushing aside a gleaming hank of smooth blond hair. He’d longed to kiss her, to make love to her. Hell, he would have been happy just to hold her close.

      But she needed her sleep. Her breathing had been steady and regular. The doc had given her enough painkillers to hold her until morning.

      He climbed the staircase and slung an arm around her waist for support. “You shouldn’t be up.”

      “I was hungry,” she said.

      “Let me bring something to the bedroom.”

      “I’d rather join the team.”

      When she raised her arm to wave to the others, he felt her sag against him. She barely had the strength to stand. Her complexion was pallid. Her beautiful blue eyes were bloodshot. But her determination was intact; she wasn’t going back to bed unless he picked her up and carried her.

      He made one more attempt to reason with her. “I’ll come to bed with you.”

      She hobbled down another stair. “I’ll be fine.”

      “I guess it’s true what they say. You can’t keep a good woman down.”

      “Please don’t refer to me as your woman,” she said. “We aren’t Neanderthals.”

      Her body was weak, but there was nothing wrong with her razor wit. He returned, “Whatever you say, babycakes.”

      “Honey lamb,” she muttered.

      “Pookie pie.”

      At the foot of the staircase, Hawthorne confronted them with a cold, I-mean-business glare. “How are you feeling, Sidney?”

      Nick felt a surge of strength go through her as she straightened her spine. No way would Sidney let Hawthorne know how much she was hurting.

      “Don’t worry about me,” Sidney said. “Please continue with your debriefing. I believe you were talking about Elena Hurtado.”

      From Nick’s point of view, Sidney’s interruption had come at a good time. He wanted to avoid discussion of Elena until he had more information. He continued down the staircase. “We’re going to the kitchen, Hawthorne. Sidney’s hungry.”

      They made their way across the spacious front room and dining room into the attached kitchen, where two armed agents dressed in cowboy gear were drinking mugs of coffee. This safe house outside Austin had once been a working cattle ranch with a barn, bunkhouse and outbuildings in addition to the two-story main house. The kitchen was big enough to cook for twenty or thirty hungry ranch hands.

      After he got her seated at a round wood table, he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, placed it on the table beside her and sat. He noticed a tremble in her fingers as she screwed off the lid on the water bottle.

      According to the doc, her injury and the resulting loss of blood weren’t particularly serious, but Nick couldn’t help worrying about her. “Are you in pain?”

      “My arm hurts a little.” She chugged the water. “Mostly, I’m dizzy. You know how I hate to take pills.”

      She didn’t like being intoxicated and losing control. He’d never seen her drunk. “Do you remember getting stitched up?”

      “Not very well. I had twelve stitches, right?”

      “It’s going to leave a scar.”

      She gave him a goofy grin. “Cool.”

      Most women would be upset, but not her. “Really? You think it’s cool?”

      “I like the drama. If somebody asks about my scar, I can tell them I was injured in a firefight with terrorists. Is that right? Were they terrorists or rebels?”

      Nick thought of the man he’d recognized when he pulled off the mask. Rico Suarez was a cool, handsome businessman who worked with Hurtado and had connections with the oil companies. “It’s hard to say who they were or what they were after.”

      “Don’t you know?”

      “There’s a lot I don’t know.” And more that he couldn’t talk about. He’d spent six months involved in a political dance where the partners seemed to change every day. “What do you want to eat?”

      “Something easily digested. I haven’t been nauseated, but I don’t want to push my luck. Maybe crackers or a cookie?”

      He asked the other two agents where to find food, and they pointed him in the direction of an earthenware cookie jar. He brought her a couple of homemade sugar cookies on a napkin.

      She nodded. “Coffee?”

      “That’s a negative,” he said. “You need your sleep.”

      She pushed back the sleeves of her plaid flannel shirt. “Do you like my outfit?”

      “Very cute.”

      “I call it hobo chic.” She picked up a cookie and took a ladylike nibble. A

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